


She doesn't (but I do)

by vivoegoincrastinum



Series: Fandom Tropes [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Implied Murder, M/M, and you have a title, arranged marriage but not AU, because raf has to be a bad king of course, both her and allison are jealous because wow he actually has really great legs wtf, derek has bad taste in women and still gets most of his family killed, everyone is royalty, lydia enjoys using stiles as a dress up doll, peter is still a pervert, peter thinks eh why the hell not, scott and allison are in twue wove, stiles and scott are half brothers, stiles is a smart little shit, the sheriff is a grand marshall, werewolves are a thing, you have a title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:02:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4888381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivoegoincrastinum/pseuds/vivoegoincrastinum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Argent kingdom and the Hale kingdom must set aside their differences and unite in the face of King Deucalion's marauding army. So Princess Allison is promised to Prince-Regent Peter. But Allison is in love with Prince Scott, heir to the McCall throne, and so they enlist the help of his bastard brother, Prince Stiles, to fool everyone long enough that they can go and be officiated by King Finstock.<br/>(Stiles really only ends up hating the heavy dresses and how often he has to apply makeup)</p>
            </blockquote>





	She doesn't (but I do)

**Author's Note:**

> The fic where everyone is royalty, basically. Will be placed in my trope series because it's basically the historical/regency romance/arranged marriage AU. 
> 
> Stiles is Melissa and John's son but John does eventually end up with Claudia until she dies, and for most of his life that's who Stiles calls mom. Stiles and Scott are allowed to be raised as brothers for the most part but there is still a natural discrepancy in how Stiles is treated in comparison to the true heir. 
> 
> (Laura just actually doesn't want to rule.)

Stiles is having trouble breathing. Peter Hale, regent of the North, had sent him into the bathroom to wash up before they consummate their marriage, and what was he supposed to do _now?_

Ten years ago, Prince Derek Hall, Duke of Beacon, fell in love with Princess Kate Argent, Duchess of Eichon. Nine years ago, on the night before the big wedding between an Argent and a Hale, Kate set fire to the Hale castle that resided in Beacon. The Hale royal family had been large, but many died that night, leaving just the Queen Talia, her brother Prince Peter, Prince Derek, heir apparent Princess Laura, and Princess Cora.

Eight and a half years ago the Argents and the Hales went to war. It spanned six years and devastated both sides—up until Prince Chris took over his father's place as King and worked with Queen Talia to put an end to it. The peace wasn't a happy one, though; the air between the two kingdoms had always been tense and after a few years of war it was openly hostile, both sides tended to make petty moves or perform ill advised posturing in regards to the other.

Two years ago, Duke Deucalion killed his king and absorbed most of the kingdoms in the west, naming himself King of the West—which most agreed was a ridiculously pretentious title—in the process. He made no effort to hide the fact that he intended to keep taking land until he was stopped and already some of his scouts had been seen outside of Argent borders. This was the kind of kick that the Argents and Hales needed to form an alliance and they tried to set aside their differences.

But then Queen Talia fell ill. Her health had declined so rapidly that Peter had needed to step in as regent until Princess Laura was well learned in her duties and of a proper age to take over. Which was fine, but it was rumored that the queen had been poisoned by an Argent hand and war had nearly broken out between the two lands again. The marriage between Prince Peter, regent to the heir apparent, and Princess Allison was arranged shortly thereafter to try and bring peace between the two lands once more in a long lasting marriage alliance.

Which was where Stiles' life went to hell. Because Prince Scott had fallen for Princess Allison three years ago. The two were honestly sickening in how gone they were on each other.

Queen Melissa had promised to talk to King Chris about a marriage between the two of them but then everything with King Deucalion had happened and he'd refused. As the Queen's illegitimate son, he'd spent his entire life following behind Scott, watching over him and helping to ensure his future king's happiness. In part because it was his duty, but also because it was Scott and Scott was his brother. Both him and Allison had been devastated when they'd realized they could never be with each other.

And that's why he's staring at himself in an ornate mirror and barely recognizing his own reflection. He sighs and continues to wash the makeup off his face, narrowing his eyes as he has to rub particularly hard to get the red hue to disappear from his lips.

By now, Scott and Allison should have had ample time to travel on horseback to the Kingdom of Green and be married under King Finstock—arguably the only one insane enough to actually go behind the backs of not one but _three_ different royal families to do so (he shuddered to imagine how displeased King Chris and Queen Melissa would be when they found out what exactly their heirs had done). And, to be fair, it was a devious idea. Send someone else in the Princess' place and the marriage never actually occurred; the only unfortunate part is that the treaty was not to be signed until a week after the arranged wedding so the new couple could get to know each other.

Well, the treaty would probably be out of the question now, or at least that particular one. Either way, it wasn't Stiles' problem.

Oh no, what was his problem was the fact that he was the one in the middle of everything when the farce of a marriage was about to be found out. And he'd had to suffer four straight days of traveling—putting on heavy dresses and decorating himself in piece after piece of fine jewelry (though, to be fair, he didn't mind the nights when he only had to wear the shifts and the undergarments as both were reasonably soft and enjoyable on his skin). Only today he'd had to spend five hours standing around in the sun as the handfasting ceremony took place. And despite how little time he'd spent talking these past few days his throat still hurt from pitching his voice so unnaturally.

Because, if nothing else, Duchess Lydia did a fabulous job in making sure he'd not be found out until the marriage bed. He'd had to spend countless hours learning how to apply makeup and convincingly wear a wig, figuring out what large jewel helped hide his adam's apple the best, as well as practice pitching his voice high enough so that wouldn't immediately give him away. He was no match for the real Allison, of course, but the Hales had never actually seen Princess Argent, so none of them had been worried about that. Plus most of his time had only been spent traveling until the handfasting ceremony, which left little time for him to be found out.

“Really, Princess, we do not have to consummate our marriage tonight,” came Peter's voice through the door and Stiles was much too late to do anything but stare in horror as it opened.

He saw the moment the kind mask disappeared for one of shock—if a simple widening of eyes and a raised eyebrow could be counted as such—before blue eyes wandered the length of his body. He did his best not to flush because he knew how he looked. He was in one of Allison's shifts and the thing came to his mid-thigh, higher in the back because of the swell of his ass and that wasn't even including the slits on the sides of the damn thing. It was tight over his shoulders, revealing more of his collarbone than he was comfortable with around a stranger, yet still fit snuggly on his hips.

“Duke Stiles.”

Stiles tried to figure out how Peter was feeling from those two words but it was impossible. They weren't angry, or questioning, or even just polite greeting. Entirely neutral. Waiting for him to reveal himself first, probably. So he leans against the sink and smirks, falling back on false bravado in the face of the unknown.

“Come now, after a handfasting ceremony aren't we supposed to be on a first name basis?” Stiles teases—he's under no delusions that this will end well but perhaps if he tries to keep it lighthearted it might not be too bad.

“Oh, but darling,” the way Peter purred the endearment sent a shiver down Stiles' spine and he watched in unease as the older man stepped into the bathroom. “We also promised to be honest to one another, did we not?”

“We also promised to try and love one another,” Stiles points out, “And as Princess Allison's heart belongs to another it was already broken long before I stepped in to take her place.”

“King Christopher is perhaps the only person this side of the mountains who does not know about the great love between your prince and his daughter. May I ask what they have been doing while you have been here, fooling us all?”

“Getting King Finstock to officiate their ill-advised marriage.”

Peter snorts, “And what of the treaty, hmm? That's very important, you realize.”

“While I understand not being married to a woman you've never met must be devastating,” Stiles drawls, knowing he's slipping into the voice his dad and Scott both affectionately label as _little shit_. “It is an opportunity in that Queen Melissa will be obligated to step in as a third party to the peace treaty now.”

“And here I was assuming you'd stepped into this blind.” Peter actually looks somewhat impressed and Stiles does his best not to preen. “Your loyalty to your half-brother is quite famous but I doubt anyone thought you would go so far. Of course, we've all thought that before.”

It's a subtle jab. Stiles, the well known bastard of Queen Melissa and Grand Marshal Stilinski, unsuited to take the throne with Scott as the McCall heir apparent. The amount of things he's done for Scott to ensure his happiness is quite absurd. He knows the rumors that go around about him, that he's the reason Queen Melissa is without her king, but there was never any proof that he was the one to get rid of King Rafael.

Of course, those who really knew the king, knew what he was like, never bothered to look for the proof. There was proof enough in the amount of makeup Queen Melissa would sometimes need to apply, in the way Prince Scott was so hungry for affection and praise, in the way the king had no problem with taking lovers but had raged when Melissa did, in the way both of them were trapped to a man who held no real love for either of them.

“Rumors like those of your family?” Stiles asks, voice sharpening. “We've all heard why the Argents initially took such issues with your family; those who spend the day walking as men and the night prowling as beasts.”

Which is nothing to say of the stories told of what happens when they prowl like beasts. But Stiles doesn't put much stock into the why of stories until he can find out for himself; after all, he knows better than most that a story may be true but the reason behind it may be more than assumed.

“And yet you were willing to lie with a beast anyway?”

“You seem to have the intelligence of a man and I shall treat you as such,” Stiles just barely resists shrugging, “But men are known for violence just as well as beasts, so it's hardly any assurance.”

Stiles plants his hands on the rim of the sink and lifts himself up onto it, watches Peter eye the way the shift rests on his thighs. He's smug for a moment—and perhaps that says something about how desperate he is for any kind of positive attention—but then Peter is pressing close, way too close, and a large, warm hand is on his thigh. Stiles might squawk a little, try to shove Peter away, but that does little to keep Peter from sliding a hand under the shift, raising it just another scant inch or two, and _oh._

Stiles knows his face is red as Peter slips the knife out from the garter he's wearing. Good thing those honesty vows hadn't been all that honest, otherwise he might actually feel bad.

“And yet.” Peter holds the knife up pointedly, smirking.

Stiles shrugs, “Princess Allison told me every proper young lady needs to be aware of a place on her person to hide such a thing to protect their virtue.”

“Do you think this would be enough to protect you from me?” The way Peter says it is innocent enough, but the hand that Peter's using to hold the knife on it grows claws, and a shiver runs down Stiles' spine.

“Obviously not,” Stiles replies, oddly breathless, because while it's probably meant to scare him he finds it _fascinating._

How much of the rumors surrounding the Hale family were true, then? He'd looked into some stuff, of course, but reading of claws and fangs was entirely different from seeing them first hand. So he swings one leg forward and hooks it around the back of Peter's thigh, reels him in with the sharp press of his heel and uses his obvious surprise as an advantage, grabbing carefully at the hand and prying the knife away, instead examining the claws.

“If you make a proper treaty with Queen Melissa, there are many benefits.” Stiles tells him, running a finger along a nail bed. “Like the border disputes you're having in the Hills since the war ended. I'm sure, with a well thought out... _alliance,_ that there may be space for the displaced Argents.”

Peter isn't stupid by any means—which in part is why he's so fascinating—and he'll know exactly what Stiles means when he says alliance. Because the only real reason he'd have to keep tabs on him at all is because he's the Duke of Nogis—some of the only McCall land that rests between that of the Argents and the Hales, a neutral ground for those who had fled the war before. If they were officially married then, in part, the land would be as much Peter's as it was his, but still belong enough to the McCalls to make the Argents happy.

“Well, that wasn't quite the reaction I was expecting.” Peter says, sharp blue eyes assessing him and making something warm bloom in his chest. “I had heard of your infamous curiosity but I hadn't imagined it to be more potent than your fear.”

Stiles releases his hand, leans back on his palms and widens his eyes in a well practiced guileless expression. “You're a handsome man, intelligent enough to be regent but no real aspirations of power, which tells me you're happy enough with your allotment in life but never allow yourself to be truly bored. I am a naturally curious boy and you provide something of a mystery at the moment. And you weren't going to force consummation, which I couldn't say about half the royals in my own kingdom.” Stiles gestures between them, “I'm bound to be married as a political maneuver, anyway, so it might as well be one that I see favorably, can make my brother happy, and it's a greater advantage for you. More likely to ensure a peaceful treaty with King Christopher without having to add as much to it since you won't be housing his daughter, anymore.”

“I suppose if the other treaty is going to be rendered invalid by young love then this is the next best thing,” Peter muses, as if he actually has to think about it.

Please, Stiles is a _catch._ His elevated station in the eyes of his future king and the current queen were only bonuses, really.

“We can include marriage stipulations that won't affect the treaty,” Stiles simpers, and oh, there he is. Peter's not pretending to just consider it anymore, not with that gleam in his eyes.

☾♚☽

 _Dearest Stiles,_  
_Below are the stipulations to our private marriage agreement. My retainer has already passed on a more lengthy copy to the Queen but I figured you might like to know the gist of them before our handfasting ceremony._

  1. _We will consummate our marriage, but speak up about how you feel, nervousness is allowed and will not make me judge you. Enthusiastic consent is what I plan to get from you before we really get anywhere._
  2. _While I can't promise you love I have a feeling it might happen anyway. Your natural stubborness and my tendency to admire sarcasm far more than I should might help with that._
  3. _Even if we do not love each other I will most likely take issue with you lying with another; I shall never do so myself and I shall ask the same of you._
  4. _I will provide nightclothes for you (along with this letter is what I would like you to wear on our first night together)._
  5. _We will share the same bed and we will travel together as long as our duties do not conflict._
  6. _I will answer your questions about my family as long as you put that mind of yours to use for me._
  7. _Derek already seems to hate you for some reason and he refuses to tell me why but please keep it up._
  8. _I am not particularly interested in children at the moment but I am open to talking about them in a few years if all is well._
  9. _If it comes to war no shipping off to the army like your blood sire. While Grand Marshall Stilinski was quite fearsome and well renowned even in my kingdom, I do not wish to have my husband somewhere out of my control._
  10. _If I die you will be included in my will but most of my land and wealth will go to my nieces and nephew. I do not require the same of you and will not expect you to do anything more than consider your own family or servants._
  11. _Ammendments can be made to our private stipulations later if absolutely necessary (I would prefer lengthy discussion first)._



_Hopefully yours,_

_Prince-Regent Peter Hale_

☾♚☽

Stiles is too distracted in reading the letter to be able to stop Lydia from grabbing the parcel off his bed. He hears the crinkle of the brown paper it's wrapped in and looks up in horror as she unties the string that holds it together. She unwraps it and pulls out a shift: it's a dark red, from the sheen he'd guess it was silk, and is surely shorter than the ones he'd borrowed from Allison. There are no sleeves to speak of and the line of the collar is not as pronounced but still dips more than he would like (he pretends not to notice the slits in the sides at all because _really?_ ).

"Oh, God." Stiles whimpers, covering his face with his hands as Lydia makes an approving noise and says, "Red _is_ your best color."

He doesn't need to look to picture the matching manic looks that Lydia and Allison are surely sporting, or the look of horror that is most likely on Scott's face as he slowly realizes what the shift means.

"Will I need to go out and select more feminine undergarments for Stiles, then?" Allison asks.

"No," Lydia replies, "I imagine this means Peter would enjoy it if Stiles went bare underneath."

Scott makes a wounded noise and Stiles can't help but agree. He's made a terrible mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> My [ tumblr ](http://teenaroo.tumblr.com)
> 
> If I add onto this it will be a tossup between the actual wedding night and making a big story out of who's causing Talia's illness and the potential war cuz why the fuck not.


End file.
